


Ties That Bind

by astrovagant



Category: Danny Phantom, Teen Titans (Animated Series)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Co-Authored by AthenaDione (FFN), Collab with AthenaDione on FFN, Danny Fenton Has Issues, Danny Fenton has PTSD, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Rewrite of Shattered Destiny, Trans Danny Fenton
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:15:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27989847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrovagant/pseuds/astrovagant
Summary: What you see isn't what always meets the eyes. Danny used to be an open book. Now he's trapped in a situation he would have done anything to avoid. Nightwing was well accustomed to the consequences of being a hero, but nothing prepared him for the consequences of discovering an even more formidable opponent in Jump: ghosts.*Rewrite of "Shattered Destiny" and collaboration with AthenaDione over on FFN*
Relationships: Danny Fenton/Raven (DCU)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Ties That Bind

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning for major character death, violence/gore/blood, and general sad stuff in this chapter.

There was thick, black smoke, intense heat, and pain.

And then Danny remembered. He forced himself upright, disregarding the deep throb in his leg and the sticky trickle leaking from his ringing ears. It didn't matter—not the smoke in his lungs, the flames licking at his skin, or the pain in his right leg that was slowly morphing into an odd, cold numbness. He had to find them.

Trying to outrun the voice in his head telling him that no one could survive this, he picked up his pace. The world tilted dangerously as he stumbled over upturned concrete. It was almost poetic in its own way, he thought distantly, the same way that hurricane or tornado was—the flames, the dust, the way that the ground warped under his feet…

No million dollar movie budget could ever do it justice.

He came across her first, crushed under the rubble. Chipped black nail polish was all the proof that he needed. It was Sam. His Sam. His best friend; the girl who snorted at his bad jokes. The girl he loved. He picked up the hot, heavy rocks with hands that burned, desperation filling him—he had to get her out, had to make sure that she was okay, or if she wasn't okay that she was at least alive.

But when he finally unearthed her, finally held trembling fingers to the spot where he'd learned a pulse was supposed to be, he found nothing. Her eyes were empty, dark brown peeking through now-distorted violet contacts.

CPR didn't work. He tried and tried until her ribs cracked before resting his head on her chest. This wasn't real. It couldn't be. He wanted to shake her, wanted to scream and sob and force her to wake up, to breathe life back into her. Instead, he put her down gently, tenderly, brushing singed hair out of her face and standing up. This wasn't the time to fall apart. He had to search for survivors.

Usually, pain gave him a certain measure of clarity, but now it was nothing but a distraction from what he needed to do. He resisted the urge to look down at his leg to assess the damage—it was already healing, anyway. It would be nothing but a scar soon.

He found Tucker next. His trademark glasses and red beret were missing alongside an arm, his PDA nowhere to be found. His eyes roved the area, searching for it until he found something blue sticking out of some nearby debris. As he got closer, he realized what it was. Jazz, his sister. The search for Tucker's beloved machine was quickly abandoned as he rushed over to her, gingerly pulling her out. Most of the hair that she'd painstakingly grown out was gone, and she was covered in burns. She wasn't breathing.

Neither of them could be saved.

As he continued on, his own injuries healed quickly—the aches began to fade, skin and muscle knitting itself together. Soon, the only thing left of his own time here would be the growing pile of bodies that he'd caused and the agony building within him.

His mother's hazmat suit had protected her from a lot of the damage, but it had melted into her skin in places. Blood pooled from her head steadily, staining the ground with red. There was no way anyone could survive losing that much blood, he realized as he took a closer look, checking her pulse just in case.

His father was nearly unrecognizable. He didn't think he'd ever seen the man so old, despite the gray that had been peppering his father's hair for as long as he could remember. Jack Fenton had always been full of life. It was hard to see him like this, hard to reconcile that this corpse and his father were the same person even though they clearly were—they had the same dark hair, the same blue eyes, the same large, pillowy build. Danny stared long and hard before he moved on.

When Danny tracked down Lancer, the knot in his chest tightened. The man's brow was relaxed. His eyes were closed and his frown lines had smoothed out for once. It was a bizarre sight—if he could ignore the singe marks on his clothes and the shrapnel buried deep in his chest that had clearly been what had killed him, he could have been sleeping. It was a pity, he thought, that he'd only ever seen him bearing the weight of being a teacher who actually cared about his students.

As he laid them side by side, coughing occasionally as his superhuman lungs cleared the smoke out of them like a nasty cold, he categorized how they had died. It was a gory sight, but he couldn't quite register it like he was supposed to. It wasn't real. There was no way that this could be real. It was a dream–some horrific nightmare that his mind had cooked up. It wasn't real. It couldn't be. It wasn't real.

But it was.

He almost swore that he could hear someone laughing in the distance.

.

Danny awoke with a start. He took a few deep breaths—in, out, in, out. He wasn't there, not anymore. He would never be there again.

He lay in his bed a while, waiting for the stinging of his eyes and the smell of burnt flesh to fade away and trying to pull himself back into the reality of the cold, blank room that he now called home.The white popcorn ceiling brought no comfort tonight, so he sat up. Wishing for the ringing in his ears to become a distant memory, he headed towards the bathroom. He splashed ice cold water onto his face. It felt good on his still-burning skin, like salve to a wound. His eyes glowed a radioactive green, the only illumination in the dead of night. He hated those eyes, unnatural as they were, serving as nothing but a reminder of what he was. Still, he couldn’t seem to look away from his reflection for a few moments, transfixed by the alien feeling of his own eyes staring back at himself.

It didn’t last for long.

Eventually, the shadows that moved with him morphed into smoke. He could smell it in the air, feel the flames nearby. His body felt too warm, too heavy.

Making his way back to his bed, Danny willed himself not to stumble. His heart had picked up speed once more, beating faster than he could fly, and he could feel his limbs trembling violently. Practically throwing himself onto his bed, he wrapped them around himself for comfort. It didn't feel any safer. Danny knew that if he weren't half dead, if he had still needed to breathe, he would be dizzy by now. He hugged himself tighter, gasping for air between barely controlled sobs.

If hunks of lifeless mass floating in space were sentient, Danny was sure that this was what going supernova would feel like.

He'd been envying the heavens more and more, these days. Stars didn't have to worry about what their subsequent collapse would do to everything around them. They didn't have to hold themselves together for anyone—their sole purpose was to simply exist. Once a larger star reached the end of its lifespan, it died. The destruction it brought was welcome, allowing matter to be flung in all directions throughout the universe.

But Danny wasn't a star. He was a result— a science experiment gone horribly wrong. He could still remember the feeling of a thousand needles driving into him at once, making him what he was. He should have died in there for real, should have left his body behind, should have become a real ghost. Then, at least, he wouldn't be here, alone, in this hell that he’d created for himself. Then, at least he would be free.

And to think, he’d wanted to be an astronaut. What a foolish child he’d been.

...

The first thing that Dick registered was a feeling of peace. There was love all around him, in the air, imbued in the blanket swaddling him. A woman’s strong, slender arms were wrapped around him, shielding him from the sparks of the fire that they were sitting nearby. She hummed a tune that was strangely familiar and rocked him from side to side. Her voice was like an oasis in the desert and he was fighting to keep his eyes open, starting whenever he tried to doze.

Soon, her humming transformed into words. They were soft and smooth, like honey. His mother tongue flowed from her mouth, twisting and turning, weaving itself into a story. Slowly, he let himself fall into darkness.

Time passed and he was being moved. He groaned in distaste, wiggling in his mother’s arms as she placed him onto the cot in their trailer. He writhed when she set him down before curling into the warmth next to him. 

A hand of his own size grasped his, and he fell back asleep.

.

The loud, obtrusive ringing of a phone woke him. Dick frowned, letting his face sink into his pillow in an effort to drown out the sound. When this action did nothing to make it go away, he darted his hand out, reaching for the nearly-bare bedside table beyond his covers. 

“This better be a real emergency.” he grumbled into the receiver, voice still rough with sleep. The dream was a good one, which was rare, and his pillow was calling for him like an old friend.

“Hello Nightwing. This is Agent J of the Ghost Investigation Ward. We have found you an agent to aid in your investigation.”

Dick straightened slightly, “That’s great! Wh-”

“Please arrive at headquarters at the earliest convenience.”

Before Dick could ask anything else, the other man had already hung up. Dick sighed before getting up and putting on his uniform. It was time to work with some bureaucrats. 


End file.
